Yellow Chrysanthemum
by LovesIgnorance
Summary: The yellow chrysanthemum, Dave remembered it's meaning, and carefully brushed it aside. It was a flower of rejection, a flower that politely said, 'No thanks, I don't want to be with you.' It's a flower that told someone that they'd done something wrong to the giver. He was taken by it's meaning, but knew it wasn't what he needed, yet. (Dave x John)
1. Chapter 1

It's my first fanfiction, please be gentle with me! This flower au was inspired by multiple pieces of art from Tumblr, although there was one specific piece that triggered my hand, and I (very sadly) cannot find the artist! They drew a picture of Dave jogging, while carrying a flower basket, and claimed to have no writing skill, although they would've loved a fanfiction. I hope I can find their work soon, because I really do love them!

Update: Thanks to one of my lovely readers, I was able to find the picture! Because of rules, I can't actually post the url, but I can give us a kind of.

kia - von - post/ 37866134560 /sooo-one-of-you-asked-for-some-of-the-other

Chapter 1:

Your name is John Egbert. Today, it just so happens that it's your birthda- no, no, that's not right. Your name isn't John Egbert at all! What the hell are you going on about, anyway? Concentrate on jogging, if you trip over and crack your shades on a rock or something Bro will have your ass- and he won't hesitate to beat it into the next generation of Star Trek. Awful jokes that are always cleverly twisted into the knots of your internal dialogue set aside for the moment; your name is Dave Strider. You are, at this very moment, jogging along the dampened, pleasantly cool asphalt road that runs through the tiny town of No-where-ville, Texas. Not the actual name of the town, but it might as well be. A 'course, it's the usual small town type of back country, with all the gossiping elderly and the church goers. No one says much to you as you get on your way, just polite hellos and smiles, the occasional wave. You'd think that these closed minded people would get over themselves, especially considering you've been doing this job since you were 14 when Bro decided you were getting too old to sit around any longer. Now you were 17, and you'd long gotten used to not being a lazy.

Tugging on the straps of the large flower carrier that hung from your shoulders like a backpack, you decided that you still didn't give a non-ironic crap at the occasional glares that you got as you made your daily stops. Going by the businesses that had ordered flowers, dropping off the flowers that were nestled in the carrier, then winding your way through the streets and pass the quaint (you liked to call them squat and ugly, but 'quaint' was what someone appreciating the town from the outside would say) little houses that lined the roads, many of their wind sills proudly displaying flowers as well, to reach your next destination, that was what the plan should have looked like. You didn't care for the more suburban part of your town one bit, because more of the Bible thumpers lived in the area. Oddly enough, it tended to be the younger kids that were raised with the word of the Lord shoved forcibly down their throat, opposed to the elderly folks, that really gave you hell about you Bro's preferences.

Your brother was gayer than Maria after Tony promised to meet up with her, only this wasn't a straight brand of gay. (Sue a guy for liking West Side Story.) He was a flamboyant homosexual who didn't have a qualm with spitting the fact in your face, and then beating you until you resemble the colors of the rainbow, a little top heavy on the red, if you get a bug up your nose to insult him. Now that it was getting warmer, and by warmer, you mean smoldering heat that crushes you- 'cause Texas doesn't get much luck with weather, even in the Winter department- people that have problems to take up with Bro become more brash about it, strutting right into the Flower Shop he owns like it ain't nobodies business. Bro was straight as a circle, but that didn't mean that he didn't know how to whoop someone into line. Even the church left a polite little message asking that he and his adoptive brother don't come down to chapel, seeing as many people felt 'uncomfortable with his advances on the towns folk.' Irony was flying off that letter hotter than the sparks of hot metal that flew off the tip of Bro's welding tools while he was working on something or another out in his little shed behind the shop. You doubt your brother has ever, in his entire life, attempted to go to church, or at least, not the one in their tiny little town. He'd rather drive for the hour and a half that it took to get to the next largest city, and find a prayer house there, although you weren't under the impression he had a religion. You'd only attended the location yourself twice, courtesy of your best friend's family.

Speaking 'a your best friend, that's the reason you haul your ass down the long way on your rout, heavy flowers strapped to your back, getting the occasional look from the people living in the town, for multiple reasons (although you privately think some of them are just jealous for your stunning legs, which you display flagrantly when you go running in comfortably small shorts.) You were winding through the streets, trying to beat the sun, which was just peeking over the tree line, waiting to take away that nice morning cool before you could finish your jobs and try to make your way back home for a weekend relaxation before dying 'a overheating. Where were you going if you had no business in these parts?

Well, you were running to John Egbert's house, although the both of you knew you weren't going to say anything, you two weren't even going to speak. Still, as you saw the light blue porch come into view, you slowed down, and there he sat, waiting there on that rickety, wicker, two person swing, like he always did when you were making runs. Slowing down just enough to not be a fleeting image, you stretched your legs a bit, letting your rear jutt out in a way that gave him a clear view, the smallest smirk finding its way to your lips. Stopping completely, oh, and you had his attention now, you pulled out a bottle of water, screwing off the cap and taking a sip, a small trickle of sweat working its way down your face as the sun slowly climbed into the sky. It was just buying time, letting him take more of you in. Your sunglasses hid your eyes, so his own shockingly blue pair couldn't tell if you were returning the look, and you knew that his vision was glued to you, over the small distance of his yard. It was funny, how you knew that same, slightly eager, small intake of breath he'd take as you stretched your arms up, stretching your slightly sweat dampened shirt across your slightly thin, muscle toned chest, and really, it was the cutest damn gasp if you could hear it close enough. You couldn't hear it, really, you weren't even checking to see if he did the endearing little action, but it was an inevitably, a perk of knowing just enough about him that you would bet money on the matter that he did.

He looked a little tousled, like he might've been sleeping out there, because his glasses were just slipped off the bridge of his lightly freckled nose (you only knew they were there because you'd tried counting them once while he slept, he was terribly insecure although he knew they were almost invisible), and his black hair stood up in a disarray that was a little more messy than usual. His full length Ghostbusters pajama pants were rolled up a bit, revealing his thin legs just up to his mid-calves, and were paired with a black t-shirt that was a little ridden up, showing just a thin line of skin that ran between the two articles of clothing. The small section of skin soon disappeared under the cloth as he literally leaned forward, his fingers closing around the edge of the chair, almost like he was expecting something. He earned a small groan from the old swing, and for a second he looked up at the structure, like he expected it to snap. His rosy, perfect lips were tucked under his slight overbite, the buck teeth he had not pronounced or unattractive at all, but simply there, gnawing on his lip in a way that made you envious. A playful chuckle slipped out of you, before you turned, prepared to leave again.

You both knew that this was a bad thing, that him watching you that playful, slightly innocent look that definitely told stories of its own, and you, slowly taking in his image, eating away at it- it wore down on both your resolves, made you want to open the low riding white picket fence that surrounded his house and completely tear away any of the distance between you two. It was mutual feeling too, because he would just as quickly meet you out on the road, shamelessly. So, per every morning that you saw your own personal adonis, there had to be an end to the meetings, and it ended by you finally starting to get a move on, just as the top of the houses on the block were graced by the sun's heat.

Your name is Dave Strider, and despite the religious Egbert household, the high school full of kids eager to single out anyone they could, and a town that probably joined in with the whole burn the gays at the stake thing back in the day, you were still and would probably always be a total homo for your best friend, the younger of the two male Egberts. And he was too.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjoy! ^ w ^

Chapter 2:

Groaning quietly, John rolled over, literally slipping off his bed. It wasn't a comical, full body fall, but more of a lethargic leaning. His head and most of his torso was hanging off the bed in a lazy way, and with a yawn that could've made a lion insecure about his roar, he moved his legs off the bed in like. Now on the floor, and in a small pile of sheets that'd been pulled off the mattress, he flashed a look at his alarm clock, which pronounced the time.

Stretching his arms up, although he was careful to not slam them into the side table by his bed, he relaxed- there was plenty of time to spend another awkward breakfast with Dad and make it to school.

Rubbing his eyes, and blinking a few times like he could somehow magically fix his eyesight, he reached up, groping the side table from an awkward angle, before finally finding his target. Closing his hands around the metal frame, he pulled it to him smoothly while sitting up, and ran a hand through his disgruntled hair. Remembering why he wanted to get done faster pulled a smile to his face, it was definitely a thought he lingered on more than he should. Dave had promised to meet up with him this morning by his place, so they could goof off and act like ass' on their way to school. Jade would've normally walked over too, considering she lived right by Dave, but this morning Grandpa Harley was finally back from his lengthy trips, and she'd wanted to spend some time with him.

Using that noncommittal drive that came with the incentive of friends, he finally dragged himself to his closet, rifling through the clothes with a mildly displeased morning emotion that he always had this early.

John didn't really do well once it got too late at night either, to be frank. He had a weird schedule that'd developed over the years, and the attitude of a princess to enforce his desire to sleep.

The fact of the matter was, even if his Dad had wanted him more sociable in the morning or less groggy in the afternoon, he didn't need to. He had always been able to wake up without too much complaint, and he slept early. And you can't fight with someone who isn't doing anything wrong.

Finally he got dressed in some jeans and a t-shirt, one of his favorite ones, because it'd been an old shirt of Dave's that he'd "borrowed." The whitish record was broken up at parts from how many times it had been through the laundry, and paired with an unbuttoned bluish flannel shirt over it, he was contentedly a self-proclaimed cool kid.

Dave had scoffed when he'd told him that notion, but John could tell from the way that he'd been smiling that he'd thought it was pretty damn funny, maybe even a bit ironic. John sighed quietly to himself (something that he did often in his scatterbrained thought processes that often ended in 'hungry') as he walked out of the room, re-evaluating just how happy he was that Dave was over his irony phase. The other had tried to take his ironic feats to an extreme, but after many paradox like statements, lots of bad clothing and jokes, and a full on confrontation from his Bro (which had consisted of, "That's annoying as hell, stop."), he'd gotten over it.

Walking downstairs with sweet Dave like thoughts floating in his head, and a totally not guilty conscious about an awful essay on antibiotics for science class that was going to be graded today, John called out to see if his Dad was downstairs. As he was reached the end of the carpet down the steps, he paused to tease the slightly rolled up edge that was older than he was.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Hm?" responded from the kitchen, probably making breakfast or something. John didn't mind his Dad constantly finding his passionate escape in a few well baked batches of cookies, but he did mind when his fridge was chalk full of baked goods instead of substantial food.

Walking into the kitchen, the bespectacled son was surprised to have found his father sitting in a tense sort of way, hovering over a cup of coffee that looked barely touched at their small two person table. Usually Dad made breakfast, and while John wasn't complaining about grabbing a granola bar and munching on it, he was a little concerned.

"Everything alright?" John didn't always check on him, seeing as they weren't the tightest of father/son duos, but they survived and appreciated each other in little ways, making the best out of their weird bonding moments and keeping everything in a suspended state of 'clean enough to be a home of two bachelors'.

Looking up at him, and seemingly snapping out of his little internal tiff, smiled in a way that could only be described as fatherly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about, you know," reaching out his hands, he vaguely gestured to the stove, implying breakfast. Shrugging, John replied, "If you say so."

Chewing on the granola bar, and leaning against the counter, he finished his breakfast in silence as the other turned away from him and continued to absently sip from the coffee. With a mumbled, "Heading out," and a small noise in reply, John tossed out the wrapper, and then grabbed his waiting book bag, which was by the back door. Going around to the street, he softly whistled a piano tune stuck in his head.

The morning was a little bit less oppressive in heat as he stepped out, and he crossed his fingers that it'd stay that way. With things starting to cool down a bit, and school having been in about a month, he thought it'd be nice to have a lunch outside without being burnt to death. Although he didn't appreciate the heat, he did love the way Dave's normally naturally pale skin tanned a bit, leaving a gorgeous golden that made girls who drove for a few hours to the next city to be spray tanned jealous. Realizing he'd come back to his favorite topic, he smiled, and that smile only brightened as he heard some loud signature whistling from that same person.

"Yo, Egbert, look any happier and you might pop a stiffy." John could've swore Dave had just winked in a way that got right under his skin in a, 'I wanna punch you,' sort of way under his shades.

"Shut up! Don't act like you couldn't resist all of this," he gestured to himself in a sort of prideful way, puffing out his chest with a sort of 'ha' movement as Dave caught up, walking alongside him. He wondered what it would be like to do cheesy romantic stuff in public, like holding his hand, as they walked with some distance between each other.

"You've caught me red handed, I couldn't," he said with that same teasing smirk, his thumbs shoved into his pockets as he shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a sucker for naive nerd."

"Am so not naive, and besides, it's not like you don't loooove My Little Pony, Dave."

Grinning at the thought of walking in on his best friend, huddled in a blanket with his phone, watching tha colorful little kid's show, he received a shoulder bump from Dave.

"I told you, that was one time, Bunbert! Bro was always throwing down these vibes that spelled out some pony time that needed to go down inside my delicate Strider brain. It was a high level unspoken suggestion, you have to go through the years of living with him to begin to scratch the surface of unspoken opinions and blank expressions before you start to grasp the intricate workings of his mind."

John had zoned out as soon as Dave had mentioned Bro, and just stuck out his tongue and then reaffirmed, as he always did when he heard this speech, "But you were totally still into it, dude! I'd bet you've watched at least a few more episodes of that girly stuff too, and risked getting cooties."

As he said the last word he waved his arms and moved in a way that he felt accurately portrayed the horrors of cooties, although it was probably just a lot of wiggling.

Dave said nothing, seeing as he'd seen this whole dance reaction a handful of times before, considering that they often rehashed old verbal battles like this. At this point, some subjects they spoke about had about as many outcomes as tic-tac-toe, and usually it was Dave trumping John with some sick verbal return that John usually missed, because he was too busy dancing like a noodle or in fits of laughter that somehow made him more of a winner anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a pansy who loves MLP and I'm going to infect you with the cooties," Dave stuck out his hand, making totally uncool groaning noises that sounded vaguely zombie-ish, but more metal wailing gone wrong.

Squeaking, John shouted a, "Don't touch me!" Running away from Dave, although he couldn't win, and who would likely tickle him, he managed about a block before running directly into someone. His giggling (which was totally dude-esque) was cut off as he backed up a bit, starting to apologize to the other person, who luckily hadn't lost their footing either.

"Sorry, I was trying to um get away from my friend and stuff, just, sorry!" Smooth Egbert, smooth.

The other person seemed otherwise uninjured though, returning a much briefer apology as she dusted herself off. She'd been... Aria? Arcia? Something like that. John didn't give it too much thought, although he recognized her from school. She gave him this smile, which, paired with her wide innocent- no- piercing eyes, was extremely unnerving.

Sort of floating away from him like she was in some dream, but she soon lost to his attention, because there Dave was- all rare smiles that were only his and nimble, tickling fingers that knew how to elicit guffaws from the Egbert.

He only kept it up for a minute or so before retracting (at which point John was in tears from laughing and begging Dave to stop the torture) as another person- Salty or something- walked past them, searching for whoever-her-face-is, who'd just passed by.

John didn't really care, but it pinched at his good mood at how they had to keep up appearances. The bullying in school would be hellish if they were ever caught being intimate, and even though they were at least three blocks worth of distance from the school, what with all their running and chasing, they couldn't risk it. High school was just awful like that, as if the actual class work wasn't enough.

He'd seen that small moment of hesitation Dave had had, his lips had turned down in this noticeable way for a split second before it was replaced by this dorky and yet aloof smile that seemed faker than before, and it hurt him just a little more.

Both of them ignored the small shared moment, although it was a precious one, like every other stolen second they spent being sort of boyfriends rather than friends. John couldn't help but feel wronged, but that wasn't up to him. Things were the way they were, and he couldn't change that single handedly, nor did he want to try, only to be beat up.

A few more moments of hypothetical scenarios provided by John and hilarious responses fueled by Dave, and they were upon the school. It wasn't extremely large, like everything else in their town, but that it was big enough for a considerable amount of students.

He personally loved listening to Dave talk about how everything was black and white in this place, when they spent nights curled up on the ledge outside his window counting stars (cheesy romantic movie style), but now the statement was more of an unpleasantly down to earth reality.

The blobs of 'misfit' kids pointedly avoided the make-up covered, expensive clothing groups that seemed to be more dominantly there. Unlike in cities, where the estranged vastly outnumbered the 'in' crowd, there were far more people raised to enjoy being a part of the flow, a puzzle piece to fit into the town's, and their parent's, big picture. Those who didn't, or who had moved here with too much outside for these small minded people, stuck out like bugs on the underside of a polished rock in the mud.

"So, we walkin' to your place after class?"John had been waiting for this hang out for the last few days, because Bro was weird about visiting times. Something about when the flowers needed their space or some weird mumbo jumbo. It's fine, since his Dad finished work during most of those days, so they'd spend time together instead.

Really, that wasn't the kind of bonding he was looking forward to when he spent time with Dave. Alone.

"Yup yup, I'll catch up with you at the end of the day." With a nod of his head, Dave was walking down the hallways, steering like a ninja around clumps of people to get to his locker, which was on the other side of the school's from John's. Even their schedules didn't lock together, so they had lunch and study halls at different times. Stupid school system.

With a glow of happiness, and a buck toothed grin, John headed in the other direction, having completely forgotten about that report that he was still totally not guilty about not putting effort into.

You're now someone else, and certainly not John Egbert.

You're hurrying because you cannot be caught here, under any circumstances. With a weary sigh that you know is inappropriately loud because it could be construed as dissatisfied, you tug on your pants, having already pulled up your boxers moments ago. Why are you concentrating on what you're doing, you think, as you finish continue dressing, buttoning up your crisp white shirt.

Your lover of a few moments ago, who happens to be Dirk Strider, is sitting on the edge of his own bed, one that you'd just been sharing, fiddling with a Rubix Cube. Trying to ignore the lack of clothing he has- really, he isn't wearing anything- you finally finish dressing, and turn, taking a minute to admire his messy, angelic pale hair.

The room is a bit of a mess, you'd both been... Aggressive, this time. You knew it will all be cleaned up in a miraculously short amount of time, and besides, it's not like anyone ever came in here uninvited. Dirk saw to that.

On the topic of what Dirk set his sight on, it was pointless, to not have those intense orange eyes that you hadn't seen in so long make your heart ache in pain. You could feel things coming to an end again, feel his reluctance to continue what you two had been doing, this broken relationship that was more sex than speaking, and more broken hurting than loving.

He, you assumed, wasn't thinking about any of that, and with an infuriatingly calm smirk, asked, "So, leaving, Pops?"

"Don't call me that, you know what it means."

"I sure as fuck do," he said, those attention drawing eyes narrowing slightly.

Yes, you both knew what his nickname meant, and it only made you frown a little harder as you acknowledged all the secrets that it was holding. Stupid nickname. Stupid Dirk. You feel a bit childish, and immediately stop that train of thought.

Digging in your pocket for another cigarette, your intention changes, and soon you're pulling out your phone, checking the time. You don't appreciate swearing in your own household, but this isn't your household at all, and you most certainly are not acting yourself. This is not who you are, not anymore.

In spite of all that, you still swear quietly, looking to him. "You need a clock in here, first of all, second of all," you head towards his door, feeling his eyes still follow you, "I need to leave immediately."

You turn to him, expecting some kind of quirky reply that'd just piss you off all over again, but instead, he set the toy down, and just watched you with a look that you knew so well, because he gave it to you every time you left. Every time you let him down again. But this wasn't about that, and soon he'd wiped away that kicked puppy look, much to your relief.

"Take the shop's way out, no one'll say anything."

You nodded curtly, not saying anything as you walked away, because that was how you two functioned. You'd made it into the flower store and managed to look like any other customer without seeing anyone on your way down from the other's apartment that was right above the shop, and you'd regained your normal facade, so to speak.

Easing around the earthy, floral smelling plants that were teeming around the shop, you felt a small pang of fear at being found out, as Dave walked in openly laughing, John turning a little red in the face from some disagreement that the other was obviously provoking.

John's eyes widened a bit like he was about to get scolded, and that angry look was replaced by one of surprise, as he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Finally getting into the dating bis again, sir?" Dave offered, after you'd stared at John for a few seconds, not quite thinking up a almost scoffed at what a little gentleman Dirk had raised, but decided that it wasn't the boy's fault at all.

"Just running a quick favor for the secretary, dropping off a check for the flowers."

"I..." You paused for a second, knowing Dirk might hear you, "I don't have someone in mind as far as dating goes."

They'd both deemed that answer acceptable, and continued into the shop as you left.


End file.
